


Fight or Flight

by cant



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Gore, I will add tags as we go - i have literally no idea what to tag this with, M/M, Mild Gore, Multi, Original Characters - Freeform, Other, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Freeform, Rating May Change, he just gay it's cool, mafia, percy jackson - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 23:43:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17414801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cant/pseuds/cant
Summary: "Ah, Vincent, there you are," he said, though the usual cheer in his voice was gone. "I don't condone sleeping in class, you know."For some reason, being scolded by him hurt a little more than when I was yelled at. "I... I'm sorry, sir. I really didn't mean to."I really hadn't meant to. If History was the only class I cared for in the slightest, why would he assume I hadn't tried to stay awake? I tried my hardest sometimes, but as usual it was a case of wrong place and wrong time.We were alone, a quick glance around confirmed. My heart was skipping beats, but I didn't want the floor to open up and swallow him - I kind of wanted it to take me instead."I really didn't mean to," I said again, my voice small. I was speaking to the ground now. "It's the only class I give a shit about. My report card is a mess. I can't even-"My voice caught in my throat and, for the first time in forever, an actual tear slid down my cheek."Vincent, you're not a normal... You're..." He sighed, frustrated. I'd never seen him so conflicted, so this was instantly ten times more uncomfortable. "I'm sorry; this is never easy. The Greek myths, the stories? They're all real."





	Fight or Flight

  Sometimes I liked to imagine some kind of epic music playing, like a punk rock track, as I pulled up the window of the first floor classroom I was meant to be serving detention in and carefully lowered myself out. It was awkward, especially since I hadn't completely planned the landing and was going to have to climb off some dude's fancy car's roof, but who was watching? I felt incredible. My ADHD brain was buzzing with the adrenaline and the underlying fear, but I felt great.

 

  "Luciano," barked someone in a sharp voice. Shit. 

 

  To run was one option. My idiot body just turned around sheepishly. "Yes, sir?"

 

  It was Mr Archimedes, to my relief. He was pretty cool. He didn't look angry though - more disappointed. That look had stopped working on me long ago. "What are you doing," he sighed. "It's only an hour."

 

  I fidgeted from one foot to the other, trying to think of a way to explain myself. "Yeah, but-"

 

  "No," he said, looking at me over his glasses like Dumbledore or something. "How's that History homework coming along?"

 

  Caught in the act - nothing got past this man, did it? I just wanted to leave, and here he was, guilt tripping me about homework because my English teacher had left me unattended. I rubbed the back of my neck, trying not to look him in the eye. "Look, sir, I don't- I can't... I can't read." 

 

  Well, good job, brain; true genius. 

 

  "Yes, you can." 

 

  "I can, but it's... It's so hard, man, it's like the words don't register. Like they're floating around the page, kind of like mist."

 

  "Well," he said, his eyes twinkling with a newfound mischief. I always did like that about him. "You know that, for a boy of your years who has dyslexia as severe as you do, you have a remarkable vocabulary." 

 

  "Uh-huh."

 

  "Walk with me," he said with a little smile. Even for someone who taught something as sinfully boring as History, he always had something interesting about him. He was the kind of person you could listen to, telling stories and things. I'd love to be taught by him, but an hour every other day didn't cut it for me. 

 

  "I'll do the walking, sir," I said, without thinking; before I could internally cringe, he laughed and pushed his wheels. 

 

  "I suppose that's fair," he chuckled. "You are a remarkably witty boy, you know, Vince. Good with words. Oh, did I ever tell you the story about Hades and Persephone?" 

 

  "Yeah," I shrugged. "He grabbed her by the hair, didn't he? Dragged her off to the underworld. She ate some pomegranate seeds, got trapped there forever until Zeus brokered a deal which meant she only had to be there for half the year."

 

  "Very good," he said, and he sounded genuinely impressed. For a moment, I felt something like pride in my hollow body. "Now, for extra credit: was it Persephone's choice to eat the seeds, or was she forced to eat them?" 

 

  I wanted to say she was forced, but something about the way he phrased the question made me pause. I thought about it for a second as we rounded the corner of the main building. "I don't really remember what you said," I admitted honestly, "but now that you put it like that, it could have been her choice, couldn't it? Maybe she did love him. A case of Stockholm Syndrome, or maybe she... She loved him. In that case, she would eat them by choice. Maybe she preferred it down there. Maybe she was just hungry because she couldn't eat anything else. Who's to say she didn't? Gotta suck being some minor goddess of spring. That compared to Queen of the Underworld is nothing." 

 

  "Very, very good," Mr Archimedes praised, emphatically nodding. It felt good to be praised and to be listened to, I had to admit. "It's so much easier to say she was forced to eat them. It could have been an accident, too. You’d do well to remember, though, that Persephone was not some ‘minor goddess’, and she was feared greatly throughout Greece. Some of history is so black and white, and yet sometimes the stories themselves can lie. There are grey areas. Were we to ask Queen Persephone now, she might feel differently to the way she did two thousand years ago and lie. She could tell the truth. The only way we'd be able to tell would be to have been there." 

 

  "True, but it's just stories, yeah? Depends on who's telling them," I said with a shrug; “especially with things we got no evidence for." I did like the way he let me finish thoughts instead of just interrupting the way people normally did. 

 

  "Yes," he nodded, looking into the distance for a moment, "quite. None but stories. That's diplomatic of you." 

 

  We carried on walking for a moment. I was wondering when would be a good time to go; my aunt's voice rang in my ears. She'd been in such a foul mood when I'd left that I'd just slammed the door. It was the same reason I was in detention - the more time I spent away from home, the better. I missed my mother. 

 

  "Climbing out of windows is dangerous," Mr Archimedes said suddenly, and I had to roll my eyes. "Are you getting enough sleep, Vincent?"

 

  I winced. When teachers started probing your personal life, it was bad news. What did he want, a pity story? Oh, boo-hoo, mummy died when you were little, how sad. Anyway, back to my issues. 

 

  "You need to go home and take care of yourself." 

 

  "With all respect, sir," I said, turning square on him and frowning. Where had this come from? I didn't want pity, and it always offended me when people pretended to care. Either care, or just fuck off, but don't dump empty words like 'oh, I'm sorry' and 'that's terrible' on me. 

 

  "With all _due_ respect, fuck off."

 

  With that, I turned and started walking. Getting lost in the city seemed like a better idea than letting my History professor see me cry. Fuck, why should he care? 

  -

 

  The more I walked, the darker it seemed to get. I kept the river to my left, trying to stay on the wrong side. I didn't need to be here. The streets got darker and narrower and the people got weirder, but I had never worried about that. They always recognised their own, and I'd been down here enough times. 

 

  I wasn't watching where I was going. I'd bummed a cigarette off some guy drugged up on something and had barely lit it before I walked square into some huge man. 

 

  "Shit, sorry, dude, wasn't watching..."

 

  This guy was enormous.

 

  He was ugly, too. Hideous. It would have been funny, if not for the fact he was with three of his ugliest and most muscular friends.

 

  Why me? 

 

  My whole life, I'd been a target. I'd grown up scrawny, an only child with no dad and a struggling mother; normal for the city, but easy pickings for kids who wanted to prove something to the world. I'd had my fair share of beatings. Sometimes it was just a lunch money feud, but sometimes it was a case of 'hey, this kid looks like he could take a good beating'. A few times, I'd been certain that the guys were inhumanly strong. I could take a beating, but sometimes I was outmatched. 

 

  One time these guys with hands the size of catcher mitts had left me almost for dead on the side of the road. I recalled looking through some kind of haze as they saw something that made them back off, though I hadn't seen what it was. 

 

  Through all that, I'd learned a few things: when people were starting something, when violence was the answer, and how to hold my own in a battle. That counted for verbal sparring too - I could be debate champion if I gave a flying fuck about my school record, and I didn't end up wanting to punch the other debater. Kurt Cobain never got on any honour rolls. 

 

  So, there I was, facing four of the most heinous looking thugs I'd ever had the misfortune to lay eyes on. Man, I was finding it hard to even look them in the eye, something I never had any issue with at all. Eye contact was the most important thing in a fight. Avoid it and get pulverised. 

 

  "Where d'you think you're goin'?" asked one of them, with a horribly thick Jersey accent. How'd he even survive in NY this long? "You're in our turf." 

 

  "Sure," I sighed. "I'll be going now." 

 

  I had barely blinked, and they were surrounding me. My heart started to skip a couple of beats. I might not... Survive this one. 

 

  "No, you'll be goin' nowhere, kid." 

 

  My heart was really going now. I was actually not strong enough to withstand a fight like this; four on one was hardly fair in any circumstance, and I was barely half the height of one of them. In fact, if I'd been paying true attention, I'd have sworn that they'd grown. 

 

  "Lord Poseidon don't tolerate no punks like you," the one to my right snarled as they took steps towards me.

 

  "I didn't wanna start anything," I said, trying to keep the nerves out of my voice, another developed skill. It didn't work. I felt so small, surrounded by these four giants. I could barely look at their faces now. 

 

  Lord Poseidon? Like the Greek dude? Not a name I’d heard tossed around on the streets a lot. 

 

  The hammering of my heart in my ears was getting louder, almost as if I could hear it. It was travelling to my gut, where it pulled, some primal anger I'd only ever felt a few times before now rearing, snarling, raging like a rabid dog. I had to do something before... Well, I wasn't sure what would happen, but I didn't want to be around when it did. 

 

  The first punch came out of nowhere. The bastard caught me right in the back of the shoulder - they were just playing around, tenderising the meat before they tore into it. Psychological torture before the final knife twist. 

 

  I was suddenly reminded of why I was the way I was. I'd been beaten into shape like this. I didn't lose fights any more. I did not. 

 

  The knots deep in my gut untwisted with a wrench, and an almighty CRACK shook the air like a gunshot. A gash in the pavement opened under my feet, something like a fissure in the tarmac and stone, cutting through like a crack in ice. It circled me, opening up in all directions until I was standing in the middle of an island, and the four uglies tumbled into the pit. 

 

  I could have sworn that one of them had only one eye. 

 

  I didn't think twice. One of the other things I'd been taught was when to run away, and I'd seen my opportunity and I had to take it. I ran for my life. 

 

  I didn't stop until I was outside my apartment building. I scaled the staircase to my floor in record time and flopped onto my bed without even acknowledging my aunt, giggling with some guy, staring at the ceiling and trying to fathom what the fuck had just happened. 

 

  Had _I_ done that? 

 

  Had I opened the fissure in the ground? There was no way it could just be some freak of nature, not in the middle of the city like that, around me of all people. At that time. Things like that didn't happen. They just didn't. 

 

  I only realised I was staring at my ceiling when my aunt came in and caught me smoking indoors. I had barely even realised I still had that thing. She started yelling about something but I could barely hear her as I stood and walked past her when she went to open the window, still in a trance. 

 

  "You all right there, kid," the guy my aunt had been fawning over said over the back of the sofa. 

 

  He seemed to be genuinely concerned, but I was more preoccupied with my aunt, fussing behind me still, and the fact I'd caused a fissure in the earth.

 

  "Leave him, Vanessa. He's not all... What's your name, kid? You didn't tell me you had a son." 

 

  "He's not my son," she laughed nervously. He turned the TV off and the room seemed so much quieter. 

 

  I felt like I was going to fall over. Who did I tell? Did I tell no one and keep it a secret? Did I just pretend it never happened? Did I imagine the whole thing? Was I concussed? Did they really beat me up that badly that I had imagined it? But then how would I have got away? Unless I was dreaming now, of course; no way would my aunt have got a date. 

 

  "Is that a bruise? Have you been fighting again?" my aunt almost screeched, it was so loud. My head hurt. 

 

  "'S nothing, don't worry," I mumbled, half-heartedly pushing her hand away. She didn't take kindly to that. I caught the glare. We had a guest, though, so she had to be nice. 

 

  Normally, she would have just left me to it, but the guy was looking at me with concern so I just shrugged it off. "Have you been drinking? You're slurring your words... Uh, honey." 

 

  The way she said that made me want to shudder. "No, leave me alone. I'm fine," I snapped finally, yanking my shoulder out of her too-tight grip. There would be finger marks on there too. I grabbed my jacket and stepped out of the apartment, slamming the door for good measure. 

  -

 

  I was sitting on the steps of the school, trying to muster the courage to go in. I had barely slept the night before, ending up on the streets, wandering until morning. I had considered going home, but I couldn't bring myself to. It wasn't really home. I'd slept for about an hour on someone's back door step, but the woman who owned the place chased me off with a broom shouting something about bums. I was no stranger to turning up to school in the same clothes I'd had yesterday, only slightly rattier. 

 

  "Vincent, right? I'm Walker." 

 

  "Yeah?" I frowned, wary as ever of people coming up to me and introducing themselves. Maybe it was my vague Italian look, being that it was New York, but people who knew what they were doing didn't tend to bother me. If I played the part, which was easy for me, I could scare off the toughest adults. "So take a walk." 

 

  He laughed nervously. "Funny. Um, I'm a transfer student - I'm your new lab partner," he added. He was so scrawny and weedy, he reminded me of myself a few years ago. I admired the irony of his name, considering the walking stick he held with a shaking hand. 

 

  I found myself struggling to care. "Uh huh. Whoop-de-fuckin'-do." 

 

  "I'm also in your history class." 

 

  "So? You want somethin'?" 

 

  He laughed nervously again, though this time it sounded distinctly like a bleating goat. I stood before he started blabbering. 

 

  Something in the blabbering caught my attention. "I was there, see, last night, and I saw- I saw, the, the, uh, the huge guys, and you were there, and I wanted to help but I had to hide, see, and-" 

 

  I had his collar in my fist before I knew what to do. This wasn't like me, but I was at the end of my tether and I was losing my mind. He was fucking with me. Torture Vince, huh? "Yeah? You didn't see a fuckin' thing, _kid_ ," I said, releasing him a little harshly so he stumbled. I turned away. 

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this sitting in my drafts for a long time, and I really like it, so here we go. If you like it, or just stuck it out to the end, thanks for reading - maybe stick around, read the rest as it updates? Thanks my dudes appreciate it u the real ones


End file.
